


A Page from Pop Tate’s Book of Love

by LikeMeReckless



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Love Confessions, Milkshakes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeMeReckless/pseuds/LikeMeReckless
Summary: ... a Bughead story with a little help from Pop Tate.It all started with a pink milkshake.I’ve never considered myself a particularly loveable man. I have a strong sense of right and wrong and can be insufferable when I disagree with someone’s opinions. What can I say? I was raised by a strong-minded woman, ahead of her time. I wouldn’t call myself an expert on love, having never married myself. My chance for love went out the window during the war.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 28
Kudos: 61





	A Page from Pop Tate’s Book of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little love note to all the lovelies in the Bughead fandom who have been so welcoming and kind. I wrote this as a little tooth-rotting fluff for you all for Valentine’s Day.
> 
> Also, this was a Drabble I began before we knew about Pop Tate’s family, so they don’t exist here.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/192454274@N08/51014087428/in/album-72157718550812672/)

_It all started with a pink milkshake._

_I’ve never considered myself a particularly loveable man. I have a strong sense of right and wrong and can be insufferable when I disagree with someone’s opinions. What can I say? I was raised by a strong-minded woman, ahead of her time. I wouldn’t call myself an expert on love, having never married myself. My chance for love went out the window during the war._

_You see, my Pop, the original Pop Tate, owned this Chock’lit shop before me. I spent more time here than I did anywhere else on this Earth. If I wasn’t working behind the counter or bussing tables, I was in a booth studying and doing my homework. When the war came around and the draft was put into action, I watched two things very closely from my sticky diner booth: The TV for my draft number to pop up and Sylvia Davis._

_Sylvia was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, her skin a burnt umber that the sunset shone out from, lighting up my eyes. She was a girl who could smile ear to ear, that hearty, unrestrained laugh ringing out unapologetically through this shop. Every day I said it would be the day, the day it finally happened. I’d close my book, put down my number two pencil, slide out of the squeaky leather seat and slip onto a stool next to her._

_On March seventh, nineteen-sixty-five, two things happened, neither amenable. My draft number was called and Sylvia was off to visit her aunt in Atlanta, never hearing my confessions of love. I went off to war and so did my dreams of love. When I came home, she was married, happily, I hoped, and my Pop got sick. I took over the Chock’lit Shoppe and it slowly took over me as well._

_Though I never spoke a word to Sylvia, besides, ‘What can I get you?’ I still could tell love when I saw it and I loved love. Running Pop’s I’ve seen more first dates, last dates, good dates, and bad dates than you can imagine. I have a whole wall dedicated to marriages that began right here in my booths, though some later ended, some pictures still there and some removed by the patrons. I can tell just from looking at the interactions between two people at my tables if they are meant to be._

_That’s why I did it. I could say it was a spur of the moment action, unplanned and extemporaneously executed. But that would be a lie. I had been watching these two their whole lives and they had always been good kids, polite and kind-hearted, despite their separate families. It was like the universe was propelling my hand that day when I placed that pink milkshake down in front of his gray, scruffy hat, setting in motion the events that followed. They know it was me- it took them years to uncover it, but they eventually did, as I knew they would. Their picture hangs on my wall of love, right in the center. That one? It’s my favorite. Let me take you back to how it all began, then you can decide if you’ll forgive an old man his intrusion._

…..

**Pop’s Chock’lit Shop**

**August 23, 2018**

A tray clattered, the glasses clinking together, precariously perched on its surface, as they loaded up dishes in the back. The post-dinner rush was over and a few booths were still full. 

“Any dessert, Cooper clan?” Pop asked as he approached the well-coiffed family of blondes seated in their usual booth. Betty, her mother, Alice, and father, Hal, had come in every Friday for dinner as long as he could remember. They were decent people, though Alice sure had venom in her fangs. But the impossible standards they impressed upon their daughter always made Pop’s collar feel tight as if he were suffocating. He couldn’t imagine how Betty felt, especially with Polly away at school.

Betty Cooper was a customer that Pop Tate had a particular affection for. She was kind- more than anyone should be in a town like Riverdale where someone would rake you over the coals for providing assistance. When he mentioned needing to save money to replace the old booths, Betty organized a car wash with the River Vixens and her friends, Josie and the Pussycats. When she was with the whole football team one night and saw Ethel Muggs crying, alone in a booth, she left her friends to comfort her. Betty was special. If only her own mother saw that.

“Hal can’t live without one of your black and white shakes every Friday, Pop,” Alice snarked, staring pointedly at her husband's waistline. “Though he _should_ be watching his sugar.”

Pop shrugged and patted his own stomach. “Shouldn’t we all? But sometimes you just gotta eat something that makes you happy. What about you, Betty? A strawberry shake to put a smile on that pretty face of yours?”

Betty smiled politely but eyed her mother out of the corner of her eye.

“She has cheerleading tryouts, Pop,” Alice answered for her. “She’s better off without. That skirt is short and fitted and she definitely has been sneaking snacks when she’s out with that Lodge girl, no doubt.”

Pop watched as Betty sunk a little lower in the booth, turning the same shade of pink as his shakes as she looked around to make sure no one heard. The two booths on either side of them were thankfully empty, and the only seat near them at the counter that was occupied was taken up by a beanie-wearing boy, quiet and seemingly engrossed in his book.

“One black and white coming up,” Pop nodded, excusing himself, tight-lipped and angry at Alice the whole way around to the back of the counter.

Pop put in the order before stopping in front of his number one customer, and subsequently, the customer that paid the least for his meals, Jughead Jones. He had been hanging around that diner since before he learned to crawl. There were plenty of times when he was a child that FP and Gladys would slip out to the parking lot for business, leaving Jughead inside, his little feet dangling as he wiggled back and forth on his stool, smiling at Pop when he offered some crayons and refilled his fries. 

Most kids drew trees, rainbows, and smiling suns on the paper placemat he’d throw their way, but not Jughead. A quiet boy, rarely speaking, he had pushed the paper back over to Pop one night when FP had disappeared for half-an-hour and smiled when Pop looked surprised. He had made him a crossword puzzle with all words from the diner. Pop had taken care in solving it, pretending to be stumped and thinking hard, much to Jughead’s delight.

Gone was that intelligent, shy six-year-old, a lanky, broody sixteen-year-old was in his place and his feet definitely reached the floor, though he still swiveled his stool. Now, he was a snarky, welcome presence on the same stool, also washing dishes for a small paycheck after hours, unwilling to wait tables and interact with his peers.

Pop began to refill the salt shakers with far more force than necessary and Jughead casually looked up from his book with one eye.

“A real piece of work, huh?” he mumbled, gesturing over his shoulder towards where Alice sat, dog-earring the page of his book. “I thought only the Southside was the subject of her condescension but it appears I gave her too much credit.”

Pop looked up at Alice from low under his lashes from where he filled the salt shakers, humming low in agreement with Jughead.

“That girl doesn’t deserve that,” Pop hummed out quietly, returning his eyes to salt shakers on the counter.

He wasn’t surprised when Jughead’s eyes returned to his book, but his reply, or the fact that he even chose to do so, did.

“No. No, she doesn’t.”

Pop’s eyes snapped up again, this time with less disdain reflected in them and more surprise. Jughead was more candid with Pop than anyone else and on occasion let down his guard. It was always subtle, unrecognizable to anyone else, but at that moment Pop Tate saw a fracture, a tiny crack in his outward exterior. 

“Pop!” Alice called, pressing her way out of the booth like a torpedo. “Pop! Hal and I just got a call about a possible stabbing down by Southside High. We have to go. Just put Hal’s dessert in the fridge and we’ll grab it to go later!”

“Anything for you, Alice,” Pop smiled, Alice flashing an excited grin back before darting towards the door.

“Betty has the check!” she yelled over her shoulder, and then she and Hal were gone. 

This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, Betty sitting in the booth alone, finally shrugging off the cardigan her mother made her wear with her fingers tearing apart a paper straw wrapper. But this was the first time Pop saw it as an opportunity. 

“You want some dessert?” he asked Jughead who had gone back to his book, not-so-coyly peering at Betty seated there alone under the crook of his arm.

“I’m good. Thanks, Pop,” Jughead smiled, though Pop knew he was lying from the way his eyes widened a bit at the first mention of dessert. 

“It’s already made and won’t hold in the fridge,” Pop shrugged. “You gonna let a good shake go to waste? I can’t just stick it in the fridge and knowing Alice, she will be out until after we close covering the story.”

Jughead looked up from his book again, skeptically but grateful, a slow cheeky grin spreading across his face. “I mean, it _would_ be neglectful to waste it. That’s sinful in my book.”

Pop chortled and patted his shoulder, slipping into the kitchen to grab the shake as Jughead stuck his nose back in his book until a clunk resounded on the counter before him, some of the stirred and diluted ice cream spilling down the side of the hall glass and plopping a splotch of pink near his hand.

Pink. That was the first thing Jughead noticed. Not how a splotch had tainted his book page or that it had two cherries instead of one. It was pink. Jughead was not one to refuse food, especially when it was free, but after all the years Pop Tate had known him, Jughead had never ordered a strawberry milkshake, the flavor too sweet. He wiped the bit that spilled onto his book off with a napkin before looking up at Pop.

“I didn’t peg Hal Cooper for a strawberry guy, but I guess a man who is confidently wearing sweaters with a pink whale stitching on the chest likes the summer feel of a berry shake.” Jughead reasoned aloud.

Pop looked up and placed a hand on his head, shaking it in frustration. “Keith must have read the order wrong...again.” he lied. “I have to have a talk with him. I’m sorry, Jug. I know you aren’t a strawberry man. I’ll have them make you a different one.”

Jughead tossed his hands out in protest but Pop gave him a look that said he better just accept the damn milkshake. “Thank, Pop. I’ll wash those dishes extra well tonight.”

“I’d hope you always clean them well,” Pop grimaced, glancing over at Betty. “Listen, Jug. Do me a favor?”

“Anything for my favorite diner owner,” he nodded, sitting up taller on the stool.

Pop slid the strawberry shake closer to Jughead and gestured towards Betty with his nose. “Betty loves strawberry shakes. Why don’t you take this over there for me while the eagle-eyed Alice is far, far from our diner premise? Give her a reason to smile.”

Jughead stared at the shake for a minute and then looked at Betty, and quickly back to the shake. “You can say it’s from me,” Pop reasoned. “It doesn't have to be a big conversation. She’s a nice girl. She won’t berate you.”

“I know,” Jughead replied quickly. “I mean, we have classes together.” He grabbed the sticky glass and slid off his stool, approaching where Betty sat texting in the booth, no doubt waiting for friends to arrive.

“Milkshake,” he blurted out, blushing and startling her from her texting, Pop shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling as he wiped down the counter. “I mean, Pop wanted me to send over this milkshake.”

Betty smiled sweetly and put her phone on the table, smiling over at Pop in thanks. “He’s too good to me,” Betty grinned, taking the shake from his hand before taking a sip. 

“He’s too good to everyone,” Jughead chuckled back, only speaking the truth. “Well, enjoy.”

“And you enjoy Zodiac,” Betty replied, glancing over at his book on the counter as Jughead winced, assuming she thought he was some type of depraved psycho, reading true crime stories alone at a diner counter. Betty seemed to realize that and spoke again. “It was really disappointing they didn’t get any DNA from the stamps he licked like they did with the Golden State Killer.”

Jughead opened his mouth in slight shock and Betty looked pleased with herself, taking another sip of her shake. “I hope I didn’t spoil that part,” she added abruptly afterward when he didn’t say anything.

“No,” Jughead stammered. “No, I knew that. I’ve watched enough documentaries on it. Not for any reason… I mean I just like it…. I mean, not the killings…”

Betty chuckled and offered him a radiant smile. “Relax, Jughead. I’m a fan of unsolved mysteries myself. That doesn’t mean I’m going to follow you home tonight and eviscerate you.”

Hearing the pink, perfect lips of Betty Cooper speak the word eviscerate did things to him, things that he would have to consider later on. In her pink, floral tank-top and perfectly bobbed ponytail, he would never have imagined having this conversation with her.

He knew she was intelligent, that was evident when she spoke in all their classes, but her piercing gaze and wit were never directly aimed at him. Not since the few encounters at Archie’s house back in his childhood when he and Archie had been close due to their fathers. When his Dad had started to run with a different crowd, Archie ran the other way, far away from Jughead, thus limiting his interaction with Betty Cooper to paper passing down a row in school.

He realized she was watching him, glancing humorously at his dumbfounded state with a half-smirk on her lips. “I don’t know, Betty. I mean, you’d be the perfect candidate- totally unsuspecting with your innocent strawberry milkshake.”

“Jughead Jones,” Betty scoffed. “I would have thought a true crime aficionado such as yourself would have already recognized that it’s always the quiet ones. Besides, strawberry isn’t innocent. It’s sinful.”

Jughead knew he was about seven shades of red and completely flustered as the bell rang above the entrance door. Veronica Lodge, Kevin Keller, and Archie Andrews entered, glancing around quickly for Betty before sliding past him into the booth.

“Hey, Jug,” Archie said quickly. “What’s up? You working here now? No uniform?”

Jughead began to formulate a reply when Betty turned to Archie first. “Jughead was kind enough to sneak me a milkshake from Pop, under the radar from Alice’s strict guidelines.”

Veronica arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow and considered Jughead, smirking at him knowingly. “Well then, Veronica Lodge approves. Thanks for looking out for our girl.”

Jughead swallowed and nodded, pulling his beanie down more completely over his ears before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Enjoy the shake, Betty.”

“Enjoy the book, Philip Marlowe,” Betty teased. “Maybe you can crack the case.”

He couldn’t help but chortle, impressed with her crime fiction knowledge before heading back to the counter. As she began to laugh with her friends, Jughead forced himself not to turn around and look at her, instead shoving his nose tightly in the book for the next hour.

“It’s a good flavor, isn’t it, Jug?” Pop asked after a while, leaning on the counter before him. “Strawberry.”

Jughead squinted and pouted his lips. “I don’t know what you-”

“Because you haven't turned that page for the last twenty minutes,” Pop teased, winking before going back to wiping glasses.

  
  


Jughead pressed his face further into the pages, suddenly agreeing that he may find strawberry a bit more amenable than ever before.

…..

_The very first thing I was accosted with when I walked into the door of the diner upon my return from Vietnam was Sylvia, her hand laced through that of her new husband’s, ring gleaming in the neon lights. I had dodged bullets, jumped landmines, and avoided multiple blasts, but this one hit me right in the gut. My mother knew it would._

_I had never told her that I loved Sylvia, but somehow she knew. It’s a mom thing, I suppose. Or maybe a diner thing, a skill we garner from watching people’s interactions on the regular. She met me at the door, a tight hug followed by welcome home applause from around the diner, and then she pushed me into a booth and softened the blow of Sylvia with a vanilla shake. That’s when I learned there isn’t much a good milkshake can’t fix._

_Now, I know what you’re thinking. Vanilla, Pop? Is that really your favorite? Is that the best flavor to soothe an aching heart? Well, you listen to me. I’ve made more milkshakes in my lifetime than your brain can even quantify. And vanilla? It’s highly underrated. It’s the OG flavor and the most basic of shakes. Vanilla is that familiar flavor you didn’t know you were craving until it hits your tongue and the world feels right. Vanilla is home._

…..

**Pop’s Chock’lit Shop**

**September 18, 2018**

It was another Friday night in Riverdale. The diner was packed after a victory by the Bulldogs over Greendale, the boys were cheering and celebrating with the girls, still in their cheer uniforms. It was a scene Pop had watched a thousand times over the years, same story, new faces.

“...then Andrews tossed the ball to Reg, perfect spiral, and…” 

“Touchdown!” they all yelled, hooting and hollering after.

Pop chuckled at their enthusiasm and Jughead tucked his nose further into his laptop, the clacking of his keys at a pause due to the noise echoing around the diner.

“You neanderthals like to brag,” Cheryl Blossom snapped, tossing her fiery red hair over her shoulder. “But without us to distract the competition, your sedate derriere’s would never have made it down the field and to the goal post in time. You owe us thanks. Flowers will do. Blood red roses for me, violet orchids for our dear gem, Veronica, and perhaps, some delicate white peonies for our sweet, innocent Bettykins.”

“Yo, mini Coop,” Chuck grinned. “If you wanna dirty-it-up a little and upgrade from white to a more...experienced color in the spectrum, I can show you the ways of love a little later. Those legs do things to me.”

Jughead clenched his fists, and pressed them against the keyboard, effectively typing what could be considered a bleeped-out expletive across his screen. He was debating sacrificing himself to the bicep-gods a few feet away when Betty spoke up, earning an amused grin from Jughead that only Pop could see.

“Eat dirt, Chuck,” Betty mumbled with a roll of her eyes, scooting out of the boys’ booth as Chuck and Reggie cat-called after her, bending to try and catch a glimpse up her skirt. She slid into another booth, Archie glaring at the guys before sliding in next to her and draping an arm over her shoulders.

“Ignore them, Betty,” Archie shrugged. “They wouldn’t even know what to do with a girl if they had the chance.”

“I’m not into ‘boys will be boys’, Arch,” Betty snarked. “They’re disgusting and delusional if they think I’d ever touch them. Why do they think girls like that?”

“They like it,” Archie said appeasingly. “They think it makes them seem more manly, you know?”

“I don’t,” Betty deadpanned, glaring over at their booth. “Give me a well-spoken, well-read, respectful gentleman any day of the week.”

Jughead grinned again, pressing his lips into his sleeve so no one could see, a tiny thrill of excitement rushing through him. It was a feeling he was becoming quite familiar with in regards to Betty Cooper. Last week when his pencil point had snapped in calculus, she had poked him in the side with the point of one of her own, holding out the extra device while biting her lip. The pure joy that pencil brought him was a feeling that perplexed him for the rest of the day. 

“Well, that sounds like no fun,” Veronica frowned, sliding in next to Archie and grabbing his arm. “Sometimes you need, to loosely quote Elvis, ‘A little less conversation, a little more action.’”

Betty burst out a laugh and leaned over Archie to slap Veronica’s knee before lowering her voice and leaning in closer, barely audible from where Jughead sat, biting at a fry from his basket. “I never said they _always_ had to be a gentleman,” Betty giggled. “But that’s not for public viewing.”

A heavy coughing came from the counter as Jughead pounded on his chest, dislodging the fry he swallowed whole just as Reggie approached the table.

“Yo! Guys!” he burst out excitedly. “Party down at Sweetwater! My boy Munroe just called!”

Veronica squeezed Archie’s arm and stood, slipping out of the booth and looking at him expectantly as Archie looked back and forth between Betty and Veronica.

“I promised Betty we’d catch up tonight,” he told them, sounding a bit disparaged by it all. “She met some guy she’s a fan of, Toni Moore, right B?”

Betty scrunched up her lip and nodded. “Right, Arch. Very close. Toni Morrison.”

“That’s cool,” Reggie replied, completely uninterested. “But party, Andrews. P.A.R.T.Y.”

Veronica pouted and tugged on the sleeve of his Bulldogs jacket. “C’mon Archiekins,” she purred. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Archie’s eyes lit up at Veronica and he licked his lips, angling himself towards her. It did not go unnoticed by Betty.

“Go, Arch,” she smiled. “We can catch up another time.”

Archie furrowed his brow, clearly conflicted. “Come with us,” he offered, clearly having made his choice.

“Can’t do,” she shrugged. “I have to be home.”

Archie slid from the booth and Veronica gripped his arm, smirking at Betty. 

“Tomorrow,” Archie promised. “We’ll do breakfast.”

“Sure, Arch,” Betty smiled. “Have fun.”

The Bulldogs and Vixens headed out in a haze of cheers and chants, leaving the diner quiet and much emptier, and Betty alone in her booth again. Jughead’s legs twitched, aching to go over there again, but what would he say? He had no reason to speak to her. He was trying to reason out a logical way to approach Betty when a vanilla shake clunked down before him.

“Let me guess,” he sighed at Pop. “That’s not for me.”

Pop just grinned and stuck a second straw in the shake. “That boy is always ditching her, has been for years. Go cheer her up.”

“What makes you think I could cheer her up?” he huffed back, not as confident as Pop was. But Pop just stared, waiting for him to vacate the stool, which he did. He shuffled over to the booth where Betty sat and this time slid into the seat across from her, clinking the vanilla shake down in the center of the table as Betty’s eyes darted from the parking lot where her friends congregated to the seat across from her.

“So what’s your poison?” Jughead asked, plucking one of the cherries off the shake. “The Bluest Eye? Song of Solomon? Paradise?”

Betty’s whole face lit up and Jughead felt like the neon lights around a theater marquee, proud for having caused the brightness that shone so warmly from her smile. “You know Toni Morrison?”

Jughead scoffed and tossed his arm across the back of the seat. “I’m a lit-head, Betts,” he joked. “What does a broody loner like me have to do but read the list of authors who have won a Nobel Prize in Literature. So, which is your favorite?”

“Beloved,” Betty replied, taking a sip of the vanilla shake as Jughead raised his eyebrows.

“Wow. That’s- that’s a heavy read. A macabre tangle of history and oppression.”

Betty just shrugged and pushed the shake his way, offering him a sip. “Most people see the cover and think it’s a love story, which I guess in a way it is. Sethe does what she does out of love, for protection from a future of darkness and pain. She bears the pain herself instead, the ultimate sacrifice.”

Jughead inhaled and looked at Betty across the table as if for the very first time. “You’re deep, Cooper, and remarkable, finding beauty in the most gruesome of things.”

Betty raised the side of her mouth, looking at him from under her lashes as she sipped the dessert again, picking up the straw and playing with the thick liquid. “You mean you don’t find me… vanilla? Everyone else does.”

“Maybe that’s because they are shortsighted,” Jughead countered, tugging the milkshake back to his side of the table. “Besides, vanilla gets a bad rep, a connotation surrounding it, but that’s because, much like the title of that book, it’s misunderstood.”

Betty cocked her head to the side, silently urging him to go on, filling Jughead with a rush of excitement. He wiggled his way out of his seat, pushing the milkshake across the table, before slipping in next to her.

“Easier to share,” he shrugged, tilting her straw towards her. “Now, vanilla, first and foremost, is a spice. Not many people would call it that, because outwardly it appears standard, a generic flavor. But it is a spice, one derived from the fruit of a beautiful orchid plant.”

Betty bit her lip and played with the edge of the glass between them, eying the table. “So you’d call vanilla spicy?”

“Sure,” Jughead nodded. “But it’s more than that. You know, vanilla is the second most expensive spice, next to saffron?”

Betty hummed in interest and took the other cherry off the shake offering to Jughead. He took it gratefully and popped it in his mouth, enjoying the sweetness of its flavor. “Tell me more, Juggie.”

Jughead was glad he was done chewing because if he hadn’t been he would have swallowed the cherry whole at her use of a nickname for him. Juggie. If anyone else called him something so… adorable, he’d be administering a lashing, a verbal one at least. But rolling off her tongue, Juggie was a sound he wouldn’t mind hearing again and again in any manner. 

Unconsciously, he scooted into the booth a little further, closing the gap between them for their conversation. 

“Well, people rave about chocolate, but cocoa beans are finicky, temperamental. They like things hot and humid, a little too picky if you ask me. But vanilla, well vanilla commands your respect. It has really good vines, and you have to put a lot of labor and love into vanilla to cultivate it. That’s why the cost is so high- because you invest your time in it. Each fruit on the vanilla plant ripens at its own time when it’s ready.”

Jughead leaned in to sip the shake, his hands a little jittery and his stomach in knots as he had a one-sided conversation with his inner monologue. 

_“Was that smooth? Because I feel like that was smooth? Why do they even call it smooth? And is that my neck sweating? And behind my kneecaps? Do all girls make you sweat like this? Is that why the Bulldogs stink so badly? Am I going to stink that badly? Or maybe only ‘the’ girl makes you sweat like that. Like, are there soulmates? What the actual fiction, Jones? Get a grip- you are talking about soulmates… with yourself.”_

Jughead exhaled a breath around his straw, going Betty didn’t see his hand nervously bouncing against his leg as he tried to gain some composure, his efforts quickly lost when she leaned in, her nose almost brushing his, and sipped the shake at the same time, grinning wickedly around her straw.

“So, I take it you’re a fan of vanilla then?” Betty said softly, not breaking eye contact, causing Jughead’s lips to slip from his straw as he swallowed audibly.

“I like vanilla,” he gulped, before backtracking, feeling a bit nervous that he was misinterpreting things. “But I’m mad about saffron.”

Betty stared at him over the straw for what seemed like moments before busting it in raucous laughter, a few diner patrons and Pop himself smiling over at them unbeknownst to Betty and Jughead. In between her tears, she managed to choke out, “Are you going to break out into song next, Juggie? Should I call you Mellow Yellow?”

He shook his head and chortled, blushing a bit as he did so. “I don’t sing,” he told her honestly. “I’m definitely not a singer.”

Betty licked her lips, cleaning off any trace of vanilla left before quirking a brow, almost as if in a challenge. “Then what do you do, you know, when you aren’t bringing milkshakes to sad girls in Pop’s booths.”

Jughead weighed his choices. He could tell her he wrote, explain all about his novel or the books he read. He could show her his doodles, stored on the back of countless Pop’s placemats. Or…

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked nonchalantly. “I have somewhere to be and you can see what I do when I’m not riding in on my steed, shake in hand.”

Eyes sparkling, Betty nodded as they slid from the booth, leaving some crumpled bills on the table to cover their food from the night. As they sprung out the door into the warm, almost-fall air, the bell on the door jingling to signal their exit, they missed the satisfied grin on Pop’s face as he watched them leave.

Outside Betty prepared to walk as Jughead headed over the motorcycle parked by the side of the diner.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Betty said flatly. “Do you even have a license for that?”

Jughead grinned and swung his leg over the side, holding out a spare helmet her way. “I turn seventeen in like two weeks and I’ve been driving this since I was fifteen. Trust me.”

Betty toed the gravel under her shoe and looked at him warily, but grabbed the helmet impulsively, the need to learn a bit more about him surpassing her fear. He patted the seat behind him and Betty climbed on, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“Is this your move with all the girls, Jones? Get them on your bike, wild and free, and show them your James Dean side?”

Jughead guffawed, turning to click the clip on the helmet under her chin for her, tugging the strap until it was tight. “If I have any moves, Betts, I promise you they are unintentional and a complete surprise to me.”

With her arms hugging him, a little too tightly, he took off through the gravel, tiny bits flipping out from under the back of the bike, the warm September air whipping across their faces as they rode. The ride itself only took a few minutes, but Betty felt exhilarated and alive. Alice would approve exactly zero of the things that had happened so far tonight, besides her flawless cheer routine. It felt liberating to drop that facade and just let herself feel. 

As the bike came to a stop, Betty realized they had pulled into the parking lot of the Twilight Drive-In. Jughead passed by the cars and instead slowed and finally parked by the projection book, putting down the kickstand of the bike before helping Betty climb off. He unclipped the helmet and helped Betty take it off, grinning at the broad smile on her face.

“I looked that happy after my first time, too,” he teased, earning a slap on the arm and a giggle from his rising partner. “Your ponytail is a little less Alice Cooper right now and a little more… Betty.”

She blushed and lifted her hands to fix her hair, but Jughead stilled her hands, shaking his head. “Leave it. I like it.” He rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a set of keys, and unlocked the booth, gesturing for her to head inside.

“You work here?” Betty asked as she scanned the shelves of film canisters, running her fingers along the edges.

“On occasion,” Jughead said, grabbing the Friday late-night horror film from the shelf. “I used to all the time, but now they only open two weekends a month. I make up for the other two weekend’s pay at Pop’s washing dishes after it closes.”

Betty watched him load up the projector, sliding the film through its pathway, down the back and out the bottom. He adjusted the focus a bit more until he was satisfied.

“So is this the secret, hideaway of Jughead Jones?” Betty asked, taking a seat on a lone bench against the wall. Jughead shuffled over, dragging his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck, taking a seat next to her. 

“I used to spend a lot of time here,” he shrugged. “I even slept here for a while when my Dad fell off the wagon.” 

Betty looked at him softly, but not with pity. He appreciated that. “It’s alright,” he assured her. “Things are better now. Just a bump in the road of life. I guess it happens to all of us now and again.”

Betty laughed, humorlessly. “Not in the Cooper house. It’s not allowed to happen to us. We need to look proper, act proper, and think proper at all times. ‘No less than seven extracurricular, a perfect GPA, and always, always a smile. Even when you are so unhappy you could cry. But crying isn’t allowed. It will ruin your mascara.’”

Jughead watched her carefully. He recognized her confession half out of truth and a need to let go, and half to make him feel more comfortable after sharing his truth. He appreciated both. 

Jughead wrinkled up his chin, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “I’d rather not say that the first time I ever hung out with a pretty girl that she cried, but you can cry here anytime you need.”

Betty turned towards him, her knee bumping his as she turned to face him. “You called me pretty.”

“I did,” Jughead nodded, not meeting her eyes. “You are, and you didn’t deserve those things Chuck was saying to you tonight.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Betty was embarrassed that he had heard, though she had no need to be. The clock ticked ahead and the movie time arrived, Jughead standing to start the projector before sitting back down, this time directly at Betty’s side.

“I like watching films from back here. The tick of the projector makes it feel more real. More alive, you know?”

Betty nodded, quietly, laying her head on his shoulder. “You ever just wish you could get out of Riverdale?” she whispered.

“Every damn day, Betty. Every damn day.”

Betty placed her hand on top of Jughead’s where it rested on his lap, pinching lightly as his knuckles.

“I’m really glad it was you who brought me that shake, Juggie. 

…..

_Now I know what you must be thinking. They definitely got together after that. Great job, Pop! But things don’t always come that easily, especially the great things. Just like that vanilla, you have to work for it, and work I did._

_You see, Jughead assumed Betty indulged him, too kind to say no and maybe just emotional in the moment. Why would a girl like that be interested in a guy like him? Even if he did see her unlike everyone else._

_Betty, for her part, was a bit embarrassed by her admission and for unloading her emotional baggage on Jughead that night- no doubt guilt cultivated by her mother’s strict principles._

_They didn’t ignore each other by any means. They’d smile, quite shyly, when the other entered the diner and they’d trade quiet “hellos” in the school hallways. It wasn't enough. Now, this is where another man would have said, “Well, I tried.” I’ve never been that man. When one of my men fell behind, whether from the torrential rains, thick jungle, or heat exhaustion, I never just let it go. It was my job to see things through, all the way through, and make sure they got home. I knew in my heart that these two, together, would be home, and I had to give them another chance to see that._

_That’s how my new menu was born._

…..

**Saturday, October 8th**

**Pop’s Chock’lit Shop**

“Betty!” Pop smiled as she strode through the door, dressed and put together impeccably for seven on a Saturday morning.

“Morning, Pop!” she smiled. “I’m very curious as to what project you need help with this early on a Saturday, but I’m always willing to help.”

A sleep-addled groan came from the doorway behind her as a much less put together, messy-haired Jughead Jones stepped into the diner, his voice thick and hoarse from sleep. “Yeah. I’m very curious about what had to be done at seven and couldn’t wait until say, noon.”

Pop just rolled his eyes and waved him off, guiding them to the very back booth. “I wanted to sit and explain what I need to you before the breakfast rush at eight. There’s food in it for you, Jughead. How about pancakes, kids? On the house for your help.”

“It depends on the job, Pop. Some jobs require burgers.”

Betty swung her head back to look at him. “You can’t be serious. A burger at seven in the morning?”

Jughead shrugged, albeit shyly. “I’m a growing boy. Pop keeps me healthy.”

“I wouldn’t use the word healthy. Maybe you can get him to eat a salad, Betty,” Pop teased as they stopped at the booth. “The boy even takes the lettuce off his burger.”

Betty dropped into one of the vinyl seats first and Pop stood blocking the other side, Jughead awkwardly standing there unsure what to do until he realized his lack of motion made the situation even more weird. With his lanky limbs, he slid in next to Betty, and only then did Pop sit in the seat across from them.

Jughead folded his arms on the tabletop and rested his head on them, tired but now alert. He didn’t know Betty would be there as well. From his left, he could smell the hints of vanilla from her body wash or shampoo and he fought the urge to lean in closer. 

Betty slipped her hands under her own thoughts, sitting on them for the moment. To her right sat Jughead Jones, sans his trademark hat and, God, his hair was beautiful. She hadn't seen it since they were kids, swimming down by Sweetwater River in the summertime, and back then she wasn’t looking at him the same way. Nine-year-old Betty did not have to squash her palms to avoid running her hands through Jughead’s hair.

“Betty,” Jughead said gently, his voice dragging her from her thoughts, and only then she realized Pop had been speaking and she had been staring. At Jughead. She flushed a bit and apologized.

“Sorry, Pop,” Betty smiled. “I guess I am a little tired and I was thrown for a loop by Jughead’s lack of woolen hair covering today.”

Pop chortled and Jughead subconsciously ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t find his hat in his mess of a room that morning and didn’t want to be late and hold up Pop from his work. 

“Oh I understand, Betty, I wear this paper hat to cover my bald spot and gray hair. If I had those shiny, wavy locks that Jughead does, I’d be strutting around hatless like I was in a shampoo commercial.”

Jughead knocked on the table, clearly uncomfortable with their praise. “You said something about a favor and pancakes. I’d like to know more about the former so we can get to the latter.”

Pop shook his head and yelled across the diner to Keith in the kitchen, telling him to whip up two orders of pancakes.

“Food’s on. Now business. I want a new menu- maybe some retro-looking artwork and fun names for the food, but I’m not creative in the slightest unless you count experimenting with ice cream flavors. Betty, I know you run the Blue & Gold and are great with layout, and Jughead, you are great at little doodles and have a way with words. I thought together you’d be able to create exactly what I’m looking for. Do you think you kids could help me?”

Betty pulled her hands from under her thighs and clapped them together excitedly. “How fun is this? I’d love to be a part of this, Pop! What about you, Juggie?”

Jughead thought about the logistics of it all. There was no way this project would be finished today. Not in an hour, not even in five. This meant more time with Betty- a lot more time. 

“I’m in,” Jughead said quickly, lifting his head and tapping the table with his knuckles. 

“Yes!” Pop clapped, looking up at the ceiling. “This is going to be great. You’ve both made an old man so happy! And of course, I’ll pay you for-”

“No!” they both said in unison, grinning as they did before Betty explained. “You do enough for us, Pop. You donate to fundraisers at school, you help people who are struggling to eat, and you’re always sending shakes my way when Alice isn’t around. We don’t need to be paid, we just want to help.”

Tears shone in his eyes and Pop touched a hand to his chest. “I appreciate that kids, and if you won’t accept money, you’ll have to accept payment in the form of food.”

“Milkshakes?” Jughead asked, jokingly. “They’re kind of our thing, wouldn’t you say, Betts?”

Betty hummed in agreement. “I believe we are due for chocolate.”

Pop promised shakes later and left them in the booth, paper, pencils, and copies of his old menu already laid out. Betty turned her body sideways and slid a blank paper between them. 

“You doodle?” Betty asked. “I had no idea you were Riverdale’s own Bill Watterson.”

Jughead scoffed and raised his forehead in protest. “Far from it. You’ll find no witty Calvin and Hobbes like creations here, but I can produce a singing hamburger or two.”

Betty grinned wickedly and poked him in the shoulder. “I thought you didn’t sing.”

“I don’t,” Jughead retorted quickly. “But if I was going to, it would be for a Pop’s burger.”

Betty passed him a pencil and grinned down at the placemat. “Whatever you say, saffron.”

Jughead wrinkled up his nose and shook his head adamantly. “Betty Cooper, if you’re going to compare me to something at least make it pretty. The saffron flower is a hideous shade of purple.”

He always surprised her, at least that’s how she felt at that moment as their conversation suddenly shifted from dancing burgers to floral arrangements.

“Perhaps something more delicate then,” Betty suggested. “Like your ego.”

Jughead narrows his eyes but then smiled, enjoying their banter more than he’d care to admit. “Touché. How about the ranunculus flower. It’s soft and floppy like my hair and it represents radiant charm and attractiveness.”

“Obviously,” she giggled back. “And what would I be? Cheryl always calls me a peony.”

“She could pick worse. Peonies are romance, honor, compassion, and bashfulness. But I’d peg you as more of a camellia. Desire, passion, and refinement.”

Betty bit at her lip. She did that quite often and it drove him mad, each time wishing he was the one nipping at the soft pink there. “How do you know all this?” she asked. “Did you work for a florist?”

“Book research,” he shrugged. “Trying to find an odd murder method led me into a rabbit hole of plant research for a while.”

Betty nodded, watching as people began flooding the diner but wishing they were alone. “Well, you could definitely work for a florist if you wanted. You’d make the best bouquets.”

“I’ll make you one,” Jughead gushed out, his eyes widening as he realized what he said. “I mean I could… if you wanted.”

“I’d like that, but I’d like to read your murder mystery over another shake even more,” Betty confessed.

“You, Betty Cooper, are… unexpected,” Jughead said, grinning as he sketched a dancing hamburger onto the paper before them.

“The good kind of unexpected, I hope,” she asked him a bit unsure, smiling at his quick reply of, “The best kind.”

They worked on ideas and layouts for a few hours, both having other afternoon plans. The work went fast, as they were a surprisingly good team, though her work habits were meticulous and his a bit more haphazard. She’d get a clean sheet and he’d speck a dot of pencil on it just to drive her wild. They spent the whole morning in a flurry of work and flirtation, though neither dared call it that.

“Sinful Strawberry,” Betty had grinned, suggesting that for the shake name.

Jughead gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. “But will Mama Cooper let you order one if you name it that?”

Betty looked down low and jutted out her jaw. “It’s not like Mama Cooper lets me order them anyway. I have to look fit in my cheer skirt, like Cheryl, or Polly used to.”

Jughead wished he’d bit his tongue, not thinking before he spoke. He knew she was making a joke, but also that she took it to heart. He cleared his throat and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“I know my opinion doesn’t carry as much weight as your Mom’s, but I’ve seen you in your cheer skirt and…” he said, blushing a bit and not knowing how to finish. “And yeah… it’s good. I mean, the skirt. I mean you.. in the skirt. You, you look good.”

Betty stared at him for a moment and he wished he could combust, but then she smiled and burst out into a bought of giggles.

“And your articulate self is writing a book?” she teased, growing more somber after. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve called me pretty… or whatever you were trying to say just now.”

At that moment her cell phone alarm chimed.

“I have to head out,” Betty frowned apologetically. “I know this was work, but I had fun. I’m looking forward to seeing how this turns out…with you.”

Jughead was not a confident guy. He often _appeared_ confident because that’s what he wanted everyone to think- Jughead Jones felt satisfied in his own skin. Truthfully, he was flustered at the moment and terrified he was reading things wrong, even as they traded phones and input their numbers so they could text and make plans.

“Hey, Betty?” he asked, swallowing hard. “Would you want to maybe meet up here around eight tonight and maybe grab dinner?”

As she gathered her things, she turned back to flash him a smile. “Sure! You mean to work on the menu some more?”

Jughead rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted to the front of the booth so he sat right before where she stood. 

“Yeah, we could work on the menu, but also…” he trailed off, sealing down what felt like a golf ball in his throat. 

“Also?” Betty echoed, smiling and Arching an eyebrow when he paused.

Jughead studied his shoes for a moment, then hers, and then a crack in the linoleum tiling, before gaining his composure and looking up at her. “Also maybe we could just have dinner… like together... like you and me. Maybe.”

Betty wanted to giggle as he was floundering for his words, but she felt too bad. He was obviously nervous. “Are you asking me out?”

“I mean, I am not _not_ asking you out. If your answer is yes, then I definitely am. If your answer is no, then I’d like to work and eat food while I do it.”

This time she couldn’t help but laugh. He was so awkward it was completely adorable.

“That was the absolute worst speech I’ve ever been asked out with,” Betty teased.

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking down, defeated, as he rubbed at his neck.

“...but it’s the first one I’m saying yes to,” Betty said softly, her eyes shining down happily at him when he looked up.

They solidified plans to meet there at eight and on a complete whim, Betty pressed a kiss to his cheek before all but running from the diner, leaving him dumbfounded in her wake.

“You better shower before tonight, Jones,” Pop quipped as he walked by the booth. “You’re sweating enough to stink up this place more than a barnyard.

…..

_I was on cloud nine all afternoon, thinking I was basically Cupid, if he couldn’t fly and smelled like fried diner food six days a week. I had pep in my step and I filled the fry baskets extra high that afternoon._

_Though my shakes and schemes had swimmingly worked, I still had a trick or two up my sleeves. When the lunch crowd dissipated, I headed to the kitchen and poured some chocolate into little heart molds to garnish their shake that night. Eat your heart out, Cupid._

_….._

He thought about meeting her in the parking lot, in fact, he stood out there for ten minutes before heading inside, only to go back out again before deciding on waiting at the counter. After their conversation this afternoon he had stopped by the florist stand. They didn’t have any camellias so he settled for one large, pink peony, not white.

“Is that for me?” he heard her voice sing from behind him. 

He swiveled around, taking in her yellow sundress, tiny flowers all over the body. Jughead gave her an awkward smile and held out the flower, Betty taking it with a soft “thank you” before holding it up to her nose.

“You look really nice,” he swallowed. “I mean, you always do, but-”

“But tonight I wanted to look nice for you,” Betty said, interrupting his rambling. “Let’s sit down.”

They took the same booth as they had in the morning- way in the back, opting again to sit on the same side. It was more comfortable this time since it was part of their rhythm. Sitting together was now just a thing Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones did. They each ordered burgers, Pop teasing he’d hold the onions, as Jughead coughed out some water and Betty eyed his mouth. They talked about books, movies, and their families. Though he liked flannel and she pastels, they found they had more in common than they had realized.

“Jug, I was thinking,” Betty said, twisting a straw wrapper as their empty plates sat discarded like pumpkin hulls on the streets. “You should come write for the Blue & Gold.”

Jughead laughed before realizing she was serious as Betty held his gaze, letting him know it was no joke.

“You’re serious?” Jughead asked. “You’d want my sarcastic, sardonic humor gracing the pages of the paper? I’m not sure Weatherbee would approve.”

Betty scooter a bit closer and bit her lip, shrugging. She did that a lot and it drove him wild. “I can convince Weatherbee. It’s just, all night you talked about getting into a college and majoring in creative writing. This could help you build a portfolio, something for your applications. You could start with a feature on the history of Pop’s and debut the new menu. And maybe write some short stories?”

When he didn’t answer right away, Betty placed her hand over his and warmth spread between them. Jughead turned his hand over, palm up, and laced their fingers together. He had never held hands before. It felt nice, more grounding than he imagined.

“Okay,” he smiled. “But only because I hear the editor-in-chief is really cute.”

“Hmmm,” Betty hummed, a bit breathlessly, leaning in a bit closer. “Too bad. I hear she’s already got her sights set on some guy who waxes poetic about vanilla milkshakes.”

They were close. Incredibly close. _Kissing_ close, when half the bulldogs and Vixens walked in. 

“Well, well, well,” Chuck sneered. “What do we have here? Betty Cooper and Dracula. They let you out of your coffin tonight?”

Jughead unconsciously gripped Betty’s hand tighter as he tried to control his natural urge to punch him.

“We’re busy here, Chuck,” Betty spat out. “Now run along and go play with your puppies.”

Chuck guffawed and then looked between the two of them, a wide, sinister smile on his lips. “Wait, no. No way. Are… are you two on a date? This is… _priceless_! You won’t give it up for me, but you’ll do it with the undead?” 

Jughead stood, about to dart around the booth and take a swing for Chuck’s blatant disrespect of Betty when she stopped him and Archie stepped in.

“Enough, Chuck!” he bellowed out. “Betty doesn’t deserve that and neither does Jug. They’ve literally done nothing to you. They basically pretend you don’t exist, so do them a favor and do the same.”

Chuck looked as if he was going to argue when Reggie clapped him on the back and dipped his shoulder, gesturing for them to head to the other side of the diner. Cheryl stared at Betty, her lip curled up in disgust though Veronica watched the pair with interest and amusement, tossing Betty a pleased wink. They all followed Reggie to the other side of the room, while Archie stayed behind.

“So,” Archie asked hesitantly. “Are you two on a date?”

Jughead could see everyone watching from where they sat, waiting for an answer to Archie’s question. Though he wanted to purchase a billboard that said, ‘Betty Cooper held my hand’” he also was self-conscious and worried she was embarrassed.

“We’re working on a project for Pop,” he said quickly, not daring to look over at Betty. “New menu.”

“Oh,” Archie shrugged, nodding and looking pleased. “Cool.”

With exchanges of goodbye, Archie headed over to his friends and the booth where Betty and Jughead sat, which had been warm with laughter and new, shy touches just moments before, now felt drafty.

The guys from the football team and some of the River Vixens livened up the diner, tossing sugar packets and juggling ketchup bottles as Betty and Jughead directed their now awkward conversation back to their plans for Pop’s menu. They worked for about an hour until their schoolmates left, sending them waves as they headed out to no doubt another party.

The quick goodbyes interrupted their workflow and the awkward silence seeped in again until Pop appeared, plopping a chocolate shake with two straws, topped with a few chocolate hearts, onto their table.

“I thought you two could use something sweet,” he smiled. “This morning you mentioned chocolate so I thought I’d follow through.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Betty smiled, picking up a heart and biting into the bitter, rich dark chocolate. “This is just what I needed.”

Pop flitted away, aware of the rift at the table and hoping they could smooth things over. He thought a few moments alone might help. “I’m going to take out some trash, kids. Don’t burn down the diner while I’m gone.”

Pop headed back into the kitchen and Betty nibbled at the heart-shaped confection. Jughead sighed, wracking his brain for how to repair the apparent damage he had caused.

“Did you know that it takes four hundred cocoa beans to make a pound of chocolate?” Jughead rambled nervously. “I read that on the back of a chocolate wrapper once and-”

“Why did you say it, Jug?” Betty asked, putting the piece of chocolate down on her napkin.

The first thing Jughead noticed was the silence in the diner. They seemed to be the only patrons left at that time of night- too late for families and too early for after-party munchies. The second was much worse. He noted the disappointment and hurt on Betty’s face.

Jughead swallowed hard and forced himself to take her hand, playing lightly with her fingertips.

“I reacted,” he said honestly. “I didn’t know if… if you’d want them to know you were on a date with me. I’m not used to being _that_ guy. The one who the pretty girl wants to be with and I worried maybe they’d tease you and-”

Betty didn’t let him finish.

…..

_I took out the garbage to give them a minute alone, hoping they could get the night back on track. When I turned from the dumpster, right there under the red neon lights from the diner sign, I saw two young lovebirds share their first kiss. I decided to stay out a moment longer and head back in through the kitchen. Moments like these shouldn’t be interrupted._

_….._

To say he was flabbergasted would be an understatement. One minute he was confessing why he’d messed up and the next thing he knew, her lips were pressed against his, chaste and softly. The kiss was shy, yet confident, and he could feel Betty’s lips curl up into a smile against his own when his brain began to work again and he kissed her back. It only lasted a few seconds, but in his entire lifetime, Jughead had never felt anything like it, the faint taste of the chocolate she left on his lips leaving him wanting more.

“What was that?” he smiled, letting his palm fall against her cheek. “Not that I’m complaining _at all.”_

“It’s called a kiss, Juggie,” Betty quipped. “It usually happens when you like someone a great deal and find them quite attractive. Especially when they are being incredibly stupid.”

Jughead chortled and bobbed his head. “I deserved that. I’m sorry.”

Betty shrugged a bit and grinned. “If I didn’t want to be seen with you, do you think I’d agree to a date at Pop’s, Jug? I really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” Jughead breathed out, relieved, pulling in her fingers to draw her closer. This time he initiated the kiss, his hand dancing across her jaw as he held her steady, letting his lips slide over hers in a new, tentative dance. “And I _really_ like that.”

…..

_If you think this is the part where I give a closing monologue and take credit, you’re wrong. Their story and my diner were intertwined. It was a night six months later I took their picture for my wall, their smiles radiant and the table covered in milkshakes. Neither were looking at the camera, but instead were watching each other, looks of complete adoration on their faces. For years her mother would sigh and suggest I have them take a “proper” photo to put up instead, but this one was perfect to me._

…..

**Thursday, March 12th**

**Pop’s Chock’lit Shop**

Jughead had gone to Pop two-weeks prior, excitedly claiming he needed a favor. Through his years at the diner, Jughead had accepted many a hand-out but also put in a ton of behind the scenes work, washing dishes, mopping, and doing other odd jobs Pop needed to make up for it. What he had never done was ask for a favor.

Pop Tate had listened carefully as his young friend nervously discussed his plan, Pop quickly jumping on board.

It was a Thursday like any other, but the diner was quiet. Riverdale Elementary was putting on their winter production, this year it was The Wizard of Oz, and most of the town attended. Jughead had planned it this way. 

“Are you sure you want to skip the play, Jug?” Betty teased, pecking him lightly on the jaw as they walked through Pop’s parking lot. “I know you love a good musical.”

“Tiny people singing off-key,” Jughead grimaced, his arm draped over her shoulders as they entered the diner. “And no, that wasn't a munchkin joke. I’m good. I’d much rather be here with you.”

“Hey, Pop!” Betty called when they walked in. “How are you?”

Pop looked up from where he was working on inventory and smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple. He's treating you right, Betty?”

Betty wrinkled up her nose and shrugged as a Jughead poked her in the side in protest. “Kidding, Pop,” Betty giggled. “He’s good to me.”

They took their usual booth in the back, the new menus they created staring back at them, dancing hamburger doodles and all.

“It’s so cool seeing something we planned actually laid out in front of us,” she gushed. “We make a pretty good team.”

“That we do,” Jughead agreed, pulling off his beanie and glancing at the counter where Pop waved to him. “Hey, be right back.”

Pop winked as he placed the tray down on the counter and Jughead blew out a deep breath, picking it up with shaky palms. Carefully, he carried it back to the table, three milkshakes perched on top; strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate. He placed them down very carefully and specifically in a row on the table.

“Are you attempting to fall into a sugar coma!” Betty teased. “Or were you feeling quite indecisive tonight?”

Jughead sat beside her and smirked, his eyes soft and hopeful. “No. I know exactly what I want.” With slow precision, he turned each milkshake around, first strawberry, revealing the word “I” written on the base in chocolate. Next vanilla, with the word “love”, followed by chocolate where the word “you” was scrolled at the base.

Betty had been giggling, but her laughter stopped and her heart pounded as she read the milkshake glasses and then looked quickly up at her boyfriend, waiting to see if this meant what she thought it did.

“See,” Jughead choked out nervously. “I’m quite decisive. I know what I want and it’s you. I love you, Betty Cooper.”

Betty exhaled, sniffling a bit as she got choked up, but in the best way. “Jughead Jones, I love you.”

They exchanged soft kisses and Betty buried her face in the crook of his neck, her heart pounding and her nerve endings alive. Pop gave them their privacy but later in the night, Jughead having swiped at whipped cream and dabbing it on Betty’s nose, he snapped their photo for his wall, happy and in love.

…..

_Once upon a time I had watched my father plan an anniversary gift for my mother. When he hand-picked the titles for the jukebox, he had ensured that certain pages of the machine were all love songs, so no matter what button you hit, low, slow chords proclaiming words love would sing out in the diner. He had marked those wires with permanent marker, the faded lines still there all these years later. With my trusty screwdriver, I unscrewed the others, as my father did before me, so that nothing but love would play when that button was pushed tonight, the other pages gone dark._

_My father had used this trick on their tenth wedding anniversary. He and Mom worked all day, running the diner and keeping the town fed as they did. But that morning, bright and early, he had taken me aside and showed me this little trick. He told me, “Son, when you find a partner as special as your mother, you never pass up a chance to remind her. It’s not enough to just use those three little words every once in a while. Sometimes you just have to show her what those words mean.”_

_That morning, before the diner opened, he told my mother that every love song that played that day was dedicated to her, and would represent another year he’d love her. I can still remember her raising her eyebrows and scoffing at him, saying, “Those kids only want to play Rock n’ Roll. Guess our love will be short-lived.” My father just smirked._

_By noon she was crying, sneaking kisses in the kitchen. There was only love all day._

_I never got the chance to use that trick myself, but I could at least ensure two kids, who despite their differences were much the same, had another memory, sweeter than milkshakes, in my diner._

_….._

**October 8, 2027**

**Nine Years Later**

**Pop’s Chock’lit Shop**

“Where are we going, Jug?” Betty sighed from behind the blindfold over her eyes. “My mascara is definitely all over my eyelids by now.”

“You’ll still look beautiful,” he promised her, helping her from the car and tugging on her hand. “Especially in that blindfold. Makes me think of last Saturday when we-”

“Jug!” Betty yelled, slapping him. “Are there people around? We don’t need to go publishing our extracurriculars, you know.”

Jughead smirked, though Betty couldn’t see. “We’d make a hell of a lot of money if we did.”

Betty narrowed her lips, pretending to be angry, but he could see where her lips upturned in amusement.

“Careful now,” he urged as he helped her up the steps, pushing open the old familiar door, one they only saw a few times a year now that they lived in New York City.

“Do I smell Pop’s?” Betty asked happily as he slid off the blindfold, and Betty gasped. The diner was empty, but each table instead was filled with vases of flowers, ones she recognized from their nine years together. 

“Peonies, Camellias, and Ranunculus,” Betty smiled. “You’ve really outdone yourself for our anniversary, Juggie.”

“I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he smiled, taking her hand and pulling her close.

“Pop!” Betty cried out when we came from behind the kitchen, two burgers in hand.

“Oh no!” he shook his head. “I’m not here tonight! In fact, the whole diner is yours, courtesy of your boyfriend here.”

“Who would have guessed that a true romantic was hiding under that old hat of his?” Betty teased, tugging on his hair that was hanging wildly over his eye.

“Enjoy,” Pop winked, heading into the back.

They ate and chatted, reminiscing about old times and friends. The burgers were just as good as always, filling them with warmth and nostalgia. When they were good and full and had sat and digested a bit, Betty tucked under his arm like back in high school, Jughead slid out of the booth and took her hand.

“Dance with me?” he asked, albeit a bit shyly.

“In the middle of the diner?” she replied incredulously

“No one is here,” he shrugged. “Besides, I’d dance with you anywhere.” 

Jughead tugged her upwards and into the aisle, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and pulling her close, singing softly into her ear.

“Remember when you told me you didn’t sing, Saffron?” Betty teased, pecking a kiss on his shoulder.

“Yeah, well you make me do all kinds of dumb things,” was his reply, earning him a pinch to the ribs.

They swayed a bit longer until Betty picked up her head and raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, every song that’s played tonight has been a love song. One might even say it seems… orchestrated.”

“I knew I could count on your superior observation skills, Cooper,” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “You see, Pop’s has a secret anniversary tradition. Every love song that plays that day is another year you’ll be together.”

From where her arms draped around his neck, Betty drew back to study him. “Well then, you’re at least stuck with me for another thirty years.”

“Thirty,” Jughead whispered kissing her forehead. His lips drifted to her cheek. “Forty.” Next, or kissed the very tip of her nose. “Fifty.” Finally, chaste and soft, he kissed her lips. “All of them. I want them all.”

“Jug…” Betty sighed out, emotions high from this place and his words.

Jughead looked over at the counter before taking Betty by the hand and guiding her there. On top sat a pink milkshake over the menu they created.

“It’s our menu, Juggie,” Betty sniffled. “And our very first milkshake. It’s so exciting to come back each time and see he still uses the one we made.”

Jughead hummed in agreement. “I heard he had to make an alteration though. A new dessert on the back,” he said, flipping it over and letting his finger scan the menu until they got to the milkshakes.

“The Bughead shake,” she read, laughing in surprise when she saw the old nickname their friends had given them as a couple. “A sweet strawberry shake, topped with vanilla whipped cream, and chocolate hearts. The perfect milkshake to…”

“The perfect milkshake to propose with,” he finished, pulling a small box from his pocket. 

Betty brought her hands up to her mouth as he pressed her onto the bar stool, kneeling down on the floor himself. 

“Nine years ago I was sitting right there when Pop asked me to bring you a strawberry milkshake. In the scheme of life, delivering a milkshake is a blip, a moment to which people don’t give a second thought. But for me, it was monumental. And so…”

Jughead spoke shakily, his voice a bit thick as he opened the box in his hands. “I wanted to know if you’d agree to a lifetime of shakes… chocolate, strawberry, vanilla… hell, even coffee. I don’t care what flavor as long as we’re sharing it.”

“Juggie,” Betty cried, happily, as he took her hand and held out the ring.

“So, what do you say, Betts? Wanna shake things up with me… for life?”

“You were so perfect,” Betty laughed. “Until right there, with the pun. But I’ll take it. The shakes, the puns, the time with you…”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, shakily.

“Yes,” Betty whispered tearfully and he slipped on the ring. Jughead stood up from the floor and pulled her from the stool, kissing her soundly and shamelessly right back where it all started, neither noting the jingle of a bell as Pop Tate slipped out the back, smiling from ear to ear.

**….**

_And that’s it folks, the tale of how the broody one was actually soft, and the soft one was actually broody. It’s the tale of how they fell for each other and then they just...were. Many years later a package would arrive, light in my hands as I pried open the sticky glue sealing it closed. Clouded with tears, my eyes crinkled up in a joyous smile as I held the contents in my hands; a newborn onesie with a pink milkshake embroidered on the front, the whipped cream topped with a tiny knit hat rather than its usual cherry. The card simply read: Thanks, Pop._

_I really do love, love. And milkshakes._

**Author's Note:**

> SO much thanks to Jandy for her support and edits! She has been reading my stories and encouraging me for almost two years now! Time flies when you’re making friends!


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